


The Chopping Block

by LoxleyAndBagell



Series: The Ballad of Hoss [4]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: The Haus, the dog-iline conspiracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 21:14:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5800345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoxleyAndBagell/pseuds/LoxleyAndBagell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dog-iline conspiracy (Lardo's choice of words).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chopping Block

**Author's Note:**

> Check, Please! and its characters belong to Ngozi Ukazu.

 

“I, state your name,” Lardo spoke, sitting upon Holster’s shoulders with one hand holding his head and the other holding her cigar aloft.

 

“I, state your name,” the gathered team repeated.

 

“Do solemnly swear.”

 

“Do solemnly swear.”

 

“Not to discuss beyond the boundary of this Haus.”

 

“Not to discuss beyond the boundary of this Haus.”

 

“The details, organizers, or even name of the Dog-iline conspiracy.”

 

(Here, there was some stumbling over timing, but the overall message was effectively conveyed.)

 

“By agreeing to these terms, I am now a member of the Dog-iline conspiracy.”

 

(More bad timing here, and some giggling, but still the boys soldiered through.)

 

“Should I betray this oath, and therefore my team, my Haus, and my Lady and Savior Hoss.”

 

“Should I betray this…”

 

Things petered off before Chowder piped up, “Can you repeat that?”

 

“Sure thing, dude. Oath.”

 

“Oath,” parroted the team.

 

“And therefore my… All right, know what? Raise your hand if you’re pumped for Hoss to be here.”

 

Hands fairly flew up.

 

“Good. Now, if anyone fucks this up for the others, between Jack’s heartbreak, Shitty’s disappointment, my need for cheap labor in the name of art, and Bitty’s passion for this new crusade of ours, you will not escape unscathed. So help me Ukazu. Repeat that last bit.”

 

As they did, Bitty quietly asked Jack, “What does that mean?”

 

Jack shrugged. “Johnson used to say it. It kinda stuck.”

 

“All right then,” said Lardo as Holster helped her to descend. “So, about twenty minutes before you all came in, Captain Jack here made a call to the Humane Society Office, asking after Miss Hoss.”

 

“He’s got an appointment for an interview with the shelter director in two days,” added Shitty, patting Jack’s back. “He’s gonna nail it.”

 

Jack smiled, but cleared his throat quickly and adopted his ‘Captain Voice.’ “For the sake of honesty, though, I told them that my current living situation was crowded, and temporary. They said they were interested in meeting with me and talking more, even knowing about the living situation, but I’m betting we’re going to be a hard sell for that reason.

 

“However,” he continued, “we can turn this in our favor: while numerous, we are extremely invested in Miss Hoss. Besides, her bio said she’d prefer to live in a home with older kids. You all did just take an oath saying you were, so I feel confident in saying that. For that reason, I say we should all show up to the meeting.”

 

As the Haus erupted into gleeful chaos and Jack tried to get everyone to think about rides and carpooling, Bitty bit his lip to stifle his own laughter as he typed into his phone.

 

Ransom nudged him. “Better not be tweeting this.”

 

Bitty rolled his eyes. “You and Jack worry too much. I’m looking up veterinarians in the area, seeing who’s reputable. Oh, shit,” he gasped, wide eyes on Ransom. “Will they want the name of the vet Jack intends to see in Providence? They might like that a lot, thinking ahead and all…”

 

“I think,” Ransom cut him off, “that in spite of yours _and_ Jack’s worrying, we’re not gonna be that hard of a sell.”

 

“We’re a fraternity getting a contraband dog. Oh, hell, if coach finds out—“

 

“Hey, Holster!”

 

It felt to Bitty that one moment, it was just him and Ransom, but all it took was a blink for Holster to materialize beside Ransom, asking, “Yes, dear?”

 

“Bitty’s been hanging out with Jack for too long, he’s worrying like a pro.”

 

“That, my friend, could also be your influence. What’s eating you, Bits?”

 

Bitty looked back and forth between them, slowly replying. “We’re… a rowdy frat looking to get an illegal dog, and the coach wouldn’t be too thrilled about this?”

 

Ransom nodded wisely at Holster. “You see what I’m talking about?”

 

“I do see,” replied Holster. “Bitty, what about this: Hoss is a beautiful creature, but in spite of this, what if we’re her best chances of adoption, because the world is a fucking cruel and stupid place?”

 

“Secondly,” said Ransom, grinning, “Coach has come to see us at the Haus exactly _none_ times. He wouldn’t touch this place with a ten-yard _stick._ ”

 

Bitty was smiling at them, but still put his un-lit cigar in his pocket. “You make good points, but I hope no one will be offended if I just save this— _god almighty, Jack!”_

 

Jack raised an eyebrow, unapologetically smug at having made Bitty jump about four feet after sneaking up on him. “If you’re Tweeting, Bittle—“

 

“Why does everyone assume that I’m—never mind,” Bitty huffed. “Use your imagination and project a little and tell me where you might be living in Providence.”

 

“Why? What are you looking up?”

 

“Vets in the area, that might be helpful to tell them.”

 

All attention, Jack tilted his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Good idea; let’s get some place quieter?”

 

 

 

The meeting was at five in the afternoon. It may as well have been midnight.

 

It was a strangely still outside; no howling wind, no swirling snow, even the salt on the road seemed happy to stay on the road and not fly up onto the windshield.

 

Jack was Shotgun, while Bitty sat with Shitty and Chowder in the backseat. He had been happy to let Lardo’s _Lenka_ CD play to the end while he reviewed his notes for the meeting, and judging by the content quiet among the rest of the passengers, it must have been a good call.

 

Jack had done plenty of interviews. He’d been offered and read through enough contracts to last a lifetime.

 

Jack may not have been getting paid, but he was a motherfucking _professional_.

 

He wouldn’t ever say he liked it, or that he was especially good at it, but he felt confident saying that he had the rhythm of an interview down pat. People wanted to know what sort of guy you were, if the sort of guy you were belonged in the world they had in mind. It was all about both being that guy, and assessing if they were the kind of person you wanted to be that guy for. Jack could give them that guy pretty well, at this rate.

 

Jack still wanted to scream.

 

Jack had once taken a writing course his freshman year (a required course), and virtually all the books written by writers about writing contained lengthy anecdotes about mundane moments in their lives that ultimately led to sweeping conclusions about life and writing and creation. Jack had thought they were all fairly pretentious and ridiculous.

 

There was one he had actually enjoyed, but maybe it was because it was the first one they read, and the anecdotes inside were largely about the writer living in a cabin while trying to work. She couldn’t seem to find one singular idea about writing to stick with, and that had initially been frustrating, but the one he liked the best was about the writer learning to chop wood, about how she figured out to aim for the block, not the wood.

 

The CD ended, and Jack fiddled with the radio until he found _The Temptations_ singing _My Girl._

Chowder gasped and immediately began singing along, Shitty joining in.

 

Jack felt his phone buzzing with a text from Bitty.

 

_Grand-Pere._

“Hey,” he said, pointedly ignoring Bitty’s snickering, “if you’ve got your phone out, would you send a text to the others and say we’re stopping at b-good for dinner after this? Thanks.”

 

 

Gabriel Laguardia, the shelter manager, was waiting for them in the reception area when they pulled in. He was a small-ish man, older than Bitty had been anticipating, with an impressive moustache that rivaled even Shitty’s (and he had waxed his for the occasion).

 

Jack was all genteel professionalism, shaking Mister Laguardia’s hand firmly with a “pleasure to meet you, sir.”

 

Mister Laguardia returned the pleasantry, and eyed the small swarm of bodies that were following Jack with no small degree of amusement.

 

“Did you bring your father, too?” he asked drily.

 

“Nope,” said Shitty brightly, shaking Mister Laguardia’s hand firmly. “But he did bring me, so perhaps it’s just as bad. How do you do, sir.”

 

Bitty had never seen Shitty so eager to impress, and he couldn’t help the little snicker that he disguised as a cough.

 

Mister Laguardia certainly noticed, and raised an amused eyebrow at Bitty as he shook Shitty’s hand.

 

“Very well, thank you. You must be Mister Knight; I was warned you’d be here. My office is right around the corner, I’m afraid there’s only room enough for us three.”

 

“We can clear out for as long as you need,” Ransom suggested. “Just call us if you need us for anything.”

 

Mister Laguardia waved this suggestion off. “We shouldn’t take too long; I’ll call for you when it’s time to meet Hoss.

 

“So, Mister Knight, you’re Mister Zimmermann’s legal representative, eh?”

 

“Ha, not yet,” Shitty laughed as they rounded a corner. “And, please, you may as well just call me—“ and with that the door snicked shut behind them.

 

 

 

“I spy with my little eye something beige.”

 

The little reception area had quickly lost its charm after an hour of waiting for Jack and Shitty to re-emerge from the meeting.

 

“It’s the fu—uh, the fudging carpet. You can’t pick something that was done before.”

 

Sure, the company was good, but regardless of how fond one was of their team, there was something distinctly charmless about sitting and waiting for an hour with all of one’s Haus-mates, growing either more lethargic or more antsy by the minute. Unless, of course, one was Lardo, who had the supreme good sense to fall asleep during the interim.

 

“Well, ha-ha, joke’s on you, because there are more beige things in this room than the d… than the carpet. Use your imagination, man.”

 

The receptionist, who had been reading the newspaper, looked up at Nursey and Dex. “It’s all right, boys, I survived the war, I don’t give a fiddler’s fuck what language you use.”

 

They didn’t have much time to absorb that statement before Shitty poked his head out from the office door.

 

“Hey, all,” he said, “wanna come and meet the baby?”

 

 

Bitty wasn’t sure if they were waiting for a dog, or Eva Peron on the Casa Rosada balcony. Jack and Shitty were standing side by side, the rest of the boys behind them, some already crouched in anticipation. Bitty had found a nice corner to get pictures from, a little bit away from the action.

 

“Okay,” said Jack, “now, we can’t overwhelm her, so no yelling or whatever shit it is you guys—“

 

The sound of jingling tags and clacking nails rounding the corner shot a wave of adrenaline into the silence and sent Jack whirling to the door.

 

Trotting ahead of Mister Laguardia, three-legged gait springy and blind face held high and lively, was Hoss.

 

She was smaller than Bitty expected, and her coat curlier than the picture suggested. Her tail, another detail the photograph had failed to showcase, was curled like a fiddlehead and topped with white.

 

Both Jack and Shitty went to their knees, Shitty like he had been taken out with a bat and Jack much more slowly. Hoss pranced right up to them, snuffling away at Jack’s extended hand and running her nose all along his arm, to his shoulder, until she was nuzzling and licking at his face.

 

“That smooth little—“ Shitty laughed, impressed, cut off when Hoss turned her head towards the sound. Without any hesitation, she practically lunged towards Shitty and began snuffling and licking, fixating quickly on his moustache.

 

“Oh _no,”_ Shitty squeaked, torn between delight and concern, “there is cra-- _wax_ on my face, don’t eat that, it’s not good for puppies.”

 

Bitty had never been so happy to get anything on film. He could edit out the sounds of his own giggling at Shitty’s dismay, he reasoned.

 

Hoss’ stout, square head perked up in his direction so suddenly, he flinched. Sniffing the air, she began to prance in place, wandering in Bitty’s general direction.

 

Lost, he looked up at Jack, and the great big douche barge was grinning at him and waving him over. Shitty was wide-eyed, mouth tightly shut as if to contain screams and waving his hands manically.

 

Bitty shut off his phone and approached the creature, extending a hand for her to sniff. She maybe got one little snort in before she was licking.

 

“Oh god,” Bitty managed.

 

There was an awed, hushed chorus of _he is chosen_ and _that lucky bastard_ and _don’t worry I have a camera._

 

Hoss was immediately interested in the noise behind her, but began circling around Bitty, pushing him in the direction of the sound, until Bitty was right in the center of the circle of bodies. He felt Chowder tugging on his shirt hem, mouthing _sit down, dude!_

 

Bewildered, he complied.

 

With this new development, Hoss had a superior angle with which to lick and sniff all over Bitty, before collapsing upon his lap belly-up.

 

“I’ll give you this,” Bitty mumbled, rubbing her belly and cradling her head obediently while others offered her hands for her to sniff and lick, “you’re a gal who knows what she wants.”

 

 

Gabriel Laguardia was not above admitting he had held certain expectations after initially looking up Jack Zimmermann. In his defense, it was not every day one had clients who had clips of their interviews on youtube. It was all very exciting.

 

The videos had warned him of a quietly intense, intent, humorless kid, and he had worried for Hoss in that kind of environment. The housemates’ arrival had helped, a gaggle of muscular ducklings eager to leave a good impression, so so excited to meet Hoss, and now all happily victims to her wiles and whims.

 

If Gabriel had ever worried about Jack Zimmermann being too grim for Hoss, any such thoughts were swept away with the first glance at the unparalleled delight on the kid’s face as he watched the short one who had been filming, Hoss’ newly appointed chief manservant.

 

Gabriel cleared his throat, catching Jack’s attention again.

 

“So, when can someone come over and see your house? Just to see what needs to be done to make it safe for her, and all.”

 

Jack was becoming all business again, but there was still some stardust in his eyes that he was blinking away. “Oh. Uh. I’ll be around tomorrow and Tuesday afternoons. Wednesday evening is fine, too, but—“

 

“Let’s say tomorrow afternoon. I’ll come over myself.”

 

There was a peal of laughter from Hoss’ new manservant, along with something that sounded like, “is it because I smell like chocolate macaroons, you Jezebel?” and like that Jack was distracted again.

 

“Is tomorrow all right?” Gabriel tried again.

 

“Yes,” Jack answered quickly. “Yes. That will be fine. Oh, uh, since I’m only there for a few more months, should I send you pictures of the new place’s address, or—“

 

“Whatever gets you through the night. Regardless, something tells me she likes you guys.”

 

Jack laughed at that. “I’m sure it’s mutual.”

 

 

About an hour later, as they all sat crammed at b-good, Bitty's phone cheeped with a message from Lardo. As she watched him innocently from across the table, he hit  _play_ on the video. 

He got through about five seconds before he had to hit pause on his beaming face being licked off by a very enthusiastic Hoss, as Jack peered over his shoulder and asked what he was looking at.

"Nothing at all," he said blithely, heroically paying no mind to Lardo's insufferable smugness. "What do we need to get done before our next visit?"


End file.
